


Black Ink

by MadMissMim



Series: Full Circle [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Curses, Daddy Issues, Demons, Gore, Half-demons, Tattoos, Violence, Worst Morning After Ever!!!, blind dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMissMim/pseuds/MadMissMim
Summary: This time Caleb Hill P.I. didn't so much take the case, as the case took him . . . on a date. All he did was give in and go on the blind date set up by his secretary, and the next thing he knew he was dealing with creepy stalker-like lady cops, even creepier tattoo artists, rehashing his sordid past, unexpected corpses, oh, and he's pretty sure his secretary's been cursed . . .





	Black Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so "family breakfast" got cancelled, so I had a little more time today than originally planned and was able to post this a lot sooner than expected. Luckily, I read fast and most of the copy editing had been done ages ago. That's not to say it's not still probably riddled with typos, plot holes, and grammar issues - like literary Swiss cheese, only without the Swiss cheese smell - but an effort has been made. There are two more stories after this one - that are finished, anyway - but I'm not sure if I'll be able to post them today or not. Really, this one is my personal favorite in this series. Writing Jodi is a hoot LOL! She's practically my spirit animal. I hope everyone enjoys this next installation and thanks for reading so far! ^_^

      Movies have confused us as to the true meaning of horror. It’s not defined by rubber monsters and fake madmen. It’s not encompassed by a choreographed vision of blood and guts. And, as a general rule, it’s not restricted to dumb blondes who can’t figure out the location of the front door. Horror is a gut-deep reaction, your body’s warning signal that you’ve seen too much and your mind is about to snap. It’s what you feel when something wholly wrong occurs and your instincts want you to know that it’s time to run. I’ve felt true horror before, and I’m not ashamed to admit I took to my heels. After having felt that kind of soul-searing, brutal terror in real life, horror movies just don’t do it for me. In fact, they seem kind of silly. Yet there I was, sitting in a dark theater, watching a blasé attempt at horror – funny how life works out sometimes.

      Charlie, my indomitable secretary, insisted that I needed to get out more. She was of the firm, and loudly stated, opinion that I was heading toward hermit-dom. The topic sparked a heated debate about double standards and the differences between old bachelors and old spinsters – If old spinsters collect cats, what do old bachelors collect? Answer: phone numbers. It was hardly fair, from Charlie’s point of view. Eventually, in order to prevent Charlie from causing me grievous bodily harm for being blatantly male _and_ a bachelor, I agreed to a blind date.

      Ah yes, the time-honored tradition of setting up your unsuspecting friend and/or coworker with somebody they’ve never met and probably wouldn’t date if they had. Anybody who has ever played dodge ball knows what it’s like to get set up for a blind date. You get your hopes up, convincing yourself it won’t be so bad then, dodge, dodge, smack! You’re hooked up with the twin sister of the dog-faced boy. For that matter, actually _being_ on a blind date is a bit like dodge ball too. Just when you think the game is going well, dodge, dodge, smack! Next thing you know, you’re on the sidelines with the other losers nursing a new bruise. Not exactly my idea of a fun way to spend an evening.

      This particular date started out all right. We met up at a bar. She was pretty, in a formerly disaffected Goth chick sort of way – dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes surrounded by black eyeliner. Her blatant appreciation of me was a plus. It’s always nice to buff the old ego from time to time. Though, I suppose her obvious predisposition toward the darker side of society made me appear to be right up her alley. My hair is naturally black, I have the kind of fair skin that would run screaming from a tan, and my eyes are black. I hate to say it, but I kind of look like something out of an eighties vampire movie – I refuse to say which one. It’s very pathetically cliché. One would think I would have no trouble finding a date on my own. The one thinking it would be wrong. I have a secret that I guard very closely. In order to avoid those awkward moments that always follow someone dropping the “total honesty” curve ball, I simply avoid close relationships. It may not be the healthiest way to keep my secret, but it is the most efficient.

      Maybe that’s why my date started going so badly so quickly.

      Right out of the gate she asked me what I do for a living. I told her that I’m a private investigator. The fact that she made no mention of the common P.I. and detective references meant that either she was smarter than she looked, or Charlie had warned her. The next question was where the trouble started. She asked me what kind of cases I handle. I couldn’t tell her that I only take cases that involve the supernatural, so I gave her the “official line” about confidentiality. It’s true, for what it’s worth. I make all of my clients sign a confidentiality agreement before I take the case. I don’t want them telling the tabloids what I do, and I’m pretty sure they don’t want to be a hot tabloid topic either. I flipped the conversation fast, asking her what she did for a living. She informed me that she was apprenticing to be a tattoo artist – a much safer topic.

      After a couple of drinks, the conversation faltered, floundered and finally died. It was my fault. I lack the skill for small talk. Small talk mostly consists of the weather, life in general, and work. I don’t really have a life outside of work, and I can’t talk about my work. That just leaves the weather. Not exactly my idea of a subject with conversational staying power. Then I came up with the brilliant idea of going to a movie. Silence is expected while watching a movie. The problem was that I let her pick the movie.

      So, there I sat, watching a badly acted, poorly written slasher movie that could charitably be described as soft-core porn with knives. It was extremely difficult not to comment on the unrealistic death scenes and even harder not to laugh out loud. She seemed to enjoy it though, so it wasn’t a total loss. After the movie, we went to my favorite bar and had several drinks while she told me all about her favorite parts of the movie. With so much alcohol in my otherwise empty stomach, I became more talkative myself. I must have said or done something right, because two hours later we were taking a cab back to my place. The details of what followed our arrival at my apartment are a little blurry – and definitely not something to discuss in polite company. Needless to say, we didn’t fall asleep until night was so far gone it would be safer to call it morning.

      At nine o’clock that morning, I awoke to the hideous clamoring of my alarm clock. It was time to check in with Charlie. Sitting up carefully, I ran a hand through my hair – you know you’re hung over when even your hair hurts. That’s when the smell hit. It was a sharp odor I was all too familiar with, and it slammed me instantly into full alertness. It was the scent of death. I didn’t really want to look over at the girl beside me, but I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. Slowly, I turned to look then hastily scrambled out of bed. She lay perfectly still, unnaturally still. No movement to indicate breathing. No subtle twitching to show she was only sleeping deeply. Nothing. Her pale skin had even taken on a faintly bluish tint. No doubt about it. She was dead.

      I couldn’t tell how she had died. There was no smell of blood and no signs of struggle. Not to be discounted is the fact that her death had failed to wake me. It had been abrupt and quiet as . . . well, as the grave. I also noticed that her eyes were open, and her expression was one of mild distress. Had she had a stroke? Was there a pre-existing medical condition involved? I had to resist the investigator’s instinct to check her purse for medication. The cops would want everything untouched.

      With that thought came the realization that I would have to call the cops and let them search the apartment. I didn’t dare hide anything, but I couldn’t help but wonder what they would think of my assortment of paranormal paraphernalia. Seeing no other alternative, I grabbed the phone from my bedside table. It wasn’t until I hung up the phone that it sank in. There I was – in my boxers, I might like to add – sitting on the bed beside a corpse. Jumping off the bed again, I snatched up a pair of jeans from the floor and retreated to the living room.

      The cops took their sweet time showing up, leaving me sitting in my living room with my shaking hands and raw nerves. The scent of death seemed to have permeated my skin, and it sent shivers through me at odd intervals. They say suppressed memories can be triggered by the olfactory sense. My memories, which I had intentionally buried years ago, were certainly reacting to that terrible smell. They were memories of other deaths that I hadn’t been fortunate enough to sleep through but had been just as powerless to prevent. So lost was I in my horrific recollections that when the knock on the door sounded I cried out in alarm.

      With a shaky laugh at my own foolishness, I answered the door and let the cops into the apartment. “Are you the one that called 9-1-1?” asked one of the officers while her partner went through to the bedroom. The other officer had to use his flashlight because I keep it pretty dark in my apartment, especially my bedroom. Me and sunlight don’t always get along real well. I generally try to maintain only a nodding acquaintance with it.

      “Yes,” I answered, my voice no more steady than I was.

      “Your name, sir?”

      “Caleb Hill,” I told her. “Before you ask, I’m a private investigator. My PI’s license is in my wallet in the bedroom. I haven’t touched anything in there since finding out she was dead, except for the phone and the jeans I’m wearing now. I didn’t hear or see anything. She was definitely alive when we fell asleep last night, and when I woke up five hours later, she was dead as disco. Her name is Sheila Marley. I met her last night. It was a blind date set up by my secretary, Charlie.” I had to pause to give her furiously scratching pen a chance to catch up to me. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a little shaken. I expected to wake up with a hangover, not a corpse.”

      “So, you were drinking last night?” asked the officer.

      “We both were,” I told her with a shrug. “We went to see a movie then out for drinks. We left our cars at the bar and took a cab here. I think we had a bit too much to drink, otherwise I don’t think we would have gotten so… frisky.” In truth, I was a little embarrassed that I had slept with her on the first date. I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been her idea, which I was quick to tell the lady officer.

      The phone rang then, but the handset was in the bedroom – probably being dusted for prints. I ignored it staunchly. After three rings, the answering machine picked up and Charlie’s voice carried to us from the bedroom. “Hey boss, you awake? You didn’t check in at nine like you were supposed to, and I’m dying to know how the date went. Three bill collectors have called and I have messages here from two prospective clients. Call me as soon as you drag your butt out of bed. Catch you later, boss.”

      “Who was that?” asked the lady officer.

      “That’s my secretary, Charlie,” I replied, shaking my head at Charlie’s poor choice of words. Did she have to say _dying to know_? Really? “I should call her back before she starts worrying.”

      “Are you two close?” I didn’t like the officer’s leeringly condescending tone one bit.

      “We’re friends,” I said firmly. “We’ve been working together for three years. She’s a goddess among secretaries and worth more than I can afford to pay her, but even suggesting anything romantic between us would get the one suggesting it a fist in the nose.”

      “Just sit tight for a few minutes, Mr. Hill, while I check with my partner,” said the officer. She disappeared into the bedroom where the ME’s people were making themselves at home. She emerged fairly quickly, stuffing her notebook and pen in her pocket. “Well, it appears that she died of natural causes, so you’re free to go.” She paused, her eyes sweeping down over my bare chest in a way that made me uncomfortable. “You’re welcome to get a shirt from your room now, of course. Is there somewhere else you can stay in town until we get the final word from the ME?”

      “I can sleep at the office,” I replied, numb with relief that I wasn’t being arrested. “Do you need the address and phone number for the office?”

      “We may need to get in touch with you if we have any further questions,” she confirmed. “Or for anything else we may need.” That clinched it. The lady cop was flirting with me. I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or mortified.

      I gave her one of my business cards as soon as I had retrieved my wallet from my bedroom. I also grabbed a number of other essential items, like a shirt, my jacket, a clean pair of socks, and my shoes. The second I had my shoes tied I was out the door. The flirty lady cop gave me a ride to the office, and I half expected her to do something crude like pinch me. I was definitely not having a good day.

      I had thought that explaining to Charlie what had happened would be the hardest part of my harrowing day. Thankfully, it was easier than I thought it would be. She was a little upset, but not nearly as much as I had expected. Apparently, she and Sheila hadn’t known each other long. The girl had been more of a comfortable acquaintance than a close friend. Charlie was really more concerned for me than her own loss. I tried to be stoic, but Charlie never has been the sort to fall for my B.S.

      “Boss, you look like crap,” she said, leveling a pointed look on me. “I’d bet diamonds to donuts you haven’t had much sleep, and unless I’m mistaken, you’re hung over too.”

      “Right on both counts,” I admitted wearily.

      “Then I suggest we close up shop and go have some breakfast. A little food and coffee will go a long way toward helping your hangover,” said Charlie judiciously. I just shrugged and let her drive us to my favorite diner, Jackie’s.

      Charlie stared at me thoughtfully while I guzzled down my first cup of coffee. By the time I finished the second cup, the staring was starting to irritate me. Finally, I gave up any pretense of ignoring her scrutiny and asked her straight out, “What’s up?”

      “Nothing,” she said, dropping her gaze to the cheap laminate tabletop. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you so rattled before. I know you’ve seen stuff that would turn my hair white, but before you’ve always just taken it in stride. What’s different now?”

      “I guess because it happened in my own home it brought back bad childhood memories,” I told her uneasily. “I’ll get over it. Although, I don’t think I’ll ever get over that cop hitting on me. I mean, creepy to the tenth power. Who flirts at a crime scene?”

      We laughed about the lady cop for a while and ate a good-sized breakfast. As soon as Charlie started teasing me for being a vegetarian, I knew things were back to normal. We went back to the office and tried to go about our day as if I hadn’t awakened to the less-than-spring-fresh scent of death. By the next day we were firmly entrenched in daily routine. The only difference was that I was sleeping on the lumpy couch in the back room of my office. So instead of waking up for my morning phone call from Charlie, I got rousted out of sleep by the firm application of a kick to my hindquarters. It wasn’t a fun way to wake up, but it was certainly effective.

      A couple days later, Charlie and I were sitting at Jackie’s deciding whether or not to take a case when who should show up but the lady cop. Needless to say, I was less than thrilled to see her. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, and her blond hair was hanging loose down her back rather than twisted into the tight bun she had worn the day I met her. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hill,” she said cheerfully. I waved a negligent reply with the dinner roll in my hand. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.” She looked pointedly at Charlie, her smile slipping for the briefest moment then she looked back to me and cranked the smile up another notch. “Privately,” she amended.

      “This is my secretary, Charlie,” I said once I had swallowed what I was chewing. “I don’t see any reason not to include her in the conversation.”

      “It’s all right, boss,” said Charlie, sounding a little too cheerful. “I’m done eating. I’ll meet you back at the office. I expect you to make a decision about Mr. Leonard’s case by then.”

      “Traitor,” I muttered as she gathered up her purse.

      “Don’t forget to leave a tip,” she said, patting me on the head like a puppy on her way out. Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed – or off the couch in my case.

      “Have a seat, Miss...”

      “Tenan, Jodi Tenan,” she said as she slid into the booth. The waitress arrived and removed the mostly empty plates, refilling my coffee before she left.

      “What can I do for you Miss Tenan?” I asked politely.

      “That girl, Sheila Marley, I’m not entirely sure she died of natural causes,” said Officer Tenan bluntly.

      “So what do you think happened?” I asked evenly. They say that dogs can smell fear. The same can be said of cops. When dealing with the boys – and girls – in blue I find it best to try to sound calm, if possible.

      “That’s the kicker, Mr. Hill,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Nobody knows what happened. She doesn’t have a mark on her, inside or out. There was nothing medically wrong with her except a reasonably high blood alcohol level. There was no stroke, no heart failure, no nothing. She just up and died.”

      “And you’re bringing this problem to me because?”

      “I did some checking up on you,” she said, pulling a file folder out of her capacious purse.

      “How kind of you,” I said, fairly radiating sarcasm. “And what did you find? Anything juicy in there?”

      “Well, I know your real name’s not ‘Hill’,” she began. That phrase was enough to get my full attention. Leaning back, I tried very hard not to look as uneasy as I felt. “You changed your name when you went to live with foster parents at fifteen, and kept changing it with every new set of parents until you finally settled on Hill at seventeen. Your birth certificate still has your real name on it – Jonathan Caleb McCabe. When I did a search on your real name, that’s when it got juicy. In my years as a cop, I’ve learned that kids who are abused grow up to be abusers. Kids who witness murder grow up to be murderers.”

      “I didn’t witness the murder. They were dead when I got there,” I told her, the old denials coming easily to me, even after all these years.

      The truth of the matter was that I had arrived home from school on my fifteenth birthday to find my father waiting for me. I had never met him before. My stepdad had been the only father I had ever known, and I was fine with that – especially after my mother came clean and told me that my father was an honest to goodness demon and I was the half-breed spawn of a demon. I had no desire to meet him, and yet there he stood, holding my mother by the throat. In minutes he slaughtered my whole family. Three half-sisters, an infant half-brother, my mom, and my stepdad, all turned into chutney. Then, thinking me cowed by the horror I had witnessed, he tried to take me away. Oh boy, was he ever barking up the wrong tree. My mother had taught me how to protect myself if my father ever came around. It was the first time I had ever cast a banishing, but I think I pulled it off admirably.

      Thankfully, the first time I saw my father was also the last time I ever saw the creep. I’, pretty sure he’s still looking for me, but I make sure to always stay one step ahead of him. As it turns out, one of my half-sisters managed to survive her injuries. She’s in a loony bin a few miles outside of my home town. She’s terrified of me. I look too much like my father. I can’t blame her. I scare me sometimes too.

      “Besides, I’ve never killed a single human being in my life,” I said firmly. It was strictly the truth. I had killed some things that weren’t human, but never a human being. Being half demon, I have to guard my morals very closely. The worst sins to my name are drinking and premarital sex. I figure fighting against evil for the sake of the greater good is enough to cancel out those paltry moral misdemeanors. “I don’t even eat meat for Pete’s sake.”

      “And yet, according to the fat file back at the office, bad things seem to happen whenever you’re around. You’re worse than the little old lady from _Murder She Wrote_. I found everything from injuries to fires, and there you are, smack in the middle of it – and you always have a clever explanation,” she said, leaning back with a smile that managed to be both smug and slightly lascivious. “Look, it’s obvious to me that something out of the ordinary killed Sheila Marley. As far as I can tell, they don’t come much more out of the ordinary than you.”

      “Lady, you’d be surprised,” I muttered.

      “Until I find out what really happened, I plan on keeping a very close eye on you,” said Officer Tenan.

      “Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure to keep my curtains closed,” I replied dryly. “Now, unless you have something else to add to this delightful conversation, I have work to do if I want to pay the rent this month.”

      To emphasize my point, I picked up my check and the file I had been reviewing with Charlie and started to slide out of the booth. Mr. Leonard and a big fat pay day awaited me, and I had no intention of letting the amorous lady cop keep me from it. Apparently, I hadn’t met my nuisance quota for the week however, because the lady cop followed me. Women like Tenan were enough to make a guy want to change his sexual orientation.

      When I got to the office, she followed me inside. I stopped in front of her so abruptly that she ran into me. “I know you said you wanted to keep a close eye on me, but this is ridiculous,” I said flatly. “Don’t you have to have authorization to do a stakeout?”

      “I’m off-duty,” she said with a shrug.

      “I could always sue you for harassment,” I pointed out.

      “And he’s got a witness,” said Charlie helpfully from behind her computer.

      “You couldn’t afford a lawsuit,” snorted Tenan. Unfortunately, she had a point. Most of the time, I was lucky to still have an office and enough left in the account that Charlie could cash her paycheck. Maybe if I was less picky about my cases I’d have more money. You know, take a divorce case or two. Grab some snap shots of a rich husband doing the horizontal mambo with the nanny and the gratitude of the soon to be double-rich divorcee would nicely pad my account to prevent check-bouncing shenanigans for a while. Yeah, keep dreaming.

      “Fine then,” I said at last. “Charlie, call Mr. Leonard and tell him I’ll take the case. Set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. Don’t forget to remind him he has to pay for materials. The stuff I suspect I’m going to need doesn’t come cheap.”

      “Gotcha boss,” said Charlie. “Oh, and can I get off an hour early tonight?”

      “Yeah, I’ll just be doing the preliminary crap for Mr. Leonard,” I told her with a shrug as I sank into the chair behind my desk in my private office.

      “So, new case, huh? What kind of case?” asked Tenan as she plopped down in the chair in front of my desk that was usually reserved for clients.

      “That’s none of your business,” I told her firmly. “I have a confidentiality contract with every client I take on. They can’t tell you what I do, and I can’t tell you why they hired me; quid pro quo.”

      “And why’s that?” she asked, quirking one eyebrow at me. “Anything illegal going on you don’t want people to know about?”

      “Not a bit,” I replied truthfully. I couldn’t resist pushing though. It’s in my nature. So I gave her my sweet, innocent face and said, “Why, then I would be obligated by law to report the client to the proper authorities.”

      “Cute,” she growled. I just smiled at her then went back to what I was doing. Poor Officer Tenan, I almost felt sorry for her. Watching us work isn’t exactly what I call a fun way to spend an afternoon. But I have to give her credit for tenacity; she stayed despite the boredom. Eventually, Charlie left to do whatever it was she needed to do. I kept working. I would like to reiterate my pity for Officer Tenan. Watching me work is twice as boring without Charlie there to commiserate with.

      “I’m ordering a pizza,” she said at last, stretching in her chair. “You want some?”

      “As long as it doesn’t have any meat on it,” I said with a shrug. I mean, who was I to turn down a free meal?

      “The works, sans meat, gotcha,” she said. She went to Charlie’s desk and as she sank into the chair she looked pleasantly surprised. “Wow, this is a nice chair.”

      “We had a big payday last year around Christmas,” I explained. “I got us both a treat, a new leather jacket for me and the king of all office chairs for Charlie. She’d been complaining about her old one for months.”

      “Hey, I’ll work for you too if this thing is one of the perks,” she said, leaning back with a long sigh of contentment. Tenan eventually stirred herself enough to order the pizza and twenty minutes later we were digging in with gusto.

      I finally managed to get rid of her at around nine o’clock, but the next morning she turned up again like a bad penny. “It won’t do you any good to hang around here,” I told her, still trying to rub the sleep from my eyes. “I have a meet and greet with the new client, so I don’t have time to keep you amused.”

      “I’ll just keep Charlie company until you get back,” she said sweetly, actually patting me on the cheek as she walked past me into the office.

      “Hate to break it to you, but Charlie isn’t in yet,” I said impatiently.

      “That’s all right, I’ll wait,” said Tenan. She tried for an innocent smile, but I wasn’t fooled for a second.

      “And leave you alone in here with all my case files and both computers? You must think I’m smoking crack.” I ushered her out the door and locked it behind me, setting a simple ward into the lock as I did. The ward would make the locks tamper proof, so even if Lady Cop had the know-how to make an unsupervised visit she wouldn’t be able to get in. Not even an escape artist would be able to pick the lock. I’ve gotten real good at wards over the years. “You can wait out here for Charlie. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

      By the time I returned, Tenan and Charlie were lounging in the office chatting amiably. “Don’t you have some work to do?” I snarled at Charlie.

      “Not a bit,” she said brightly. “How’d it go?”  
      My only response was a rumbling sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. “That’s his way of saying we’re charging the guy extra. It’s what I call the pain-in-the-ass fee,” Charlie informed Tenan.

      “Damn, I wish I could charge people for being a pain in my ass,” said Tenan wistfully. “Your boss would probably owe from now to New Year.”

      “Charlie, what’s that on your leg?” I asked her sharply, my eyes drawn to it like a magnet. There was some especially foul-smelling magic afoot – or a-leg in this case.

      “Remember how I wanted off early yesterday? Well, they were doing kind of a memorial party for Sheila at the tattoo shop where she worked.” She put her foot up on the desk and twisted her leg to better display her new art. “I got this little beauty for free from her boss-man. Hey! That’s attached you know!” The last she said because I had grabbed hold of her lower leg and was turning it back and forth without regard for Charlie’s feelings about it. Somebody had embedded a curse in the tattoo somehow. I couldn’t quite see it, but I could smell it so strongly it left a sour taste in the back of my throat.

      “Officer, I need you to get me into the morgue,” I snapped at Tenan. “Charlie, I want you to stay here. Don’t go anywhere until I get back. Hold all my calls.”

      “Why do you want to go to the morgue?” asked Tenan suspiciously.

      “I need to get a look at Sheila Marley’s tattoos,” I said frankly. She didn’t need to know why I wanted to see the tattoos, as long as she got me in to see them.

      “You’ve got an idea what killed her, don’t you?”

      “I guess you could say that,” I replied. “Now let’s get moving before it’s too late.”

      The idea that the mystery would soon be solved was more than enough to light a fire under Officer Tenan’s ass. We took her car, and she drove with absolutely no attention spared for little things like speed limits or traffic signs. By the time we parked I had both hands planted firmly on the dash board and my stomach planted somewhere in my chest. I wasn’t surprised that I was a little shaky getting out of the car. She led me through the large squat building that, among other things, housed the city morgue.  We got in to see the body without a problem, Tenan passing a line of B.S. to anyone that questioned our presence.

      At long last, a tired assistant pulled open the drawer that contained what had once been Sheila Marley. I leaned close and, sure enough, caught the very faint whiff of bad magic. Prodding my memory, I recalled her showing me a new tattoo on her back. I asked the assistant to roll her over and there it was. It was an intricate design that had obviously taken hours to complete. I could just make out the symbol the artist had hidden in all the twists and turns of the black tribal piece. It was well-hidden, so I wouldn’t have spotted it if I hadn’t been looking for it. It was an ancient rune traditionally used for binding.

      “Is there any way to test the ink in this tat?” I asked the M.E.’s assistant. “It’s only about a week old. It might give you a clue as to what killed her.”

      “I’ll let the M.E. know when he gets back,” said the assistant indifferently.

      “Now what?” asked Tenan with all the excitement of a kid looking at an all-you-can-eat candy store.

      “Now we go to the tattoo shop. I want to have a word with the owner,” I told her and we left. I stopped as we were getting in the car and looked over at Tenan. “You know, I’m surprised you’re being so cooperative.”

      “Are you kidding? This is the kind of the thing I was hoping would happen,” she said contentedly. “I knew if I leaned on you a bit you’d either you’d show yourself to be guilty or crack my case for me. It was a win, win for me.”

      “Well, I have to give you points for craftiness,” I said. When we got to the tattoo shop we were thwarted by a sign on the door. It was nothing more than a white piece of paper, and in black magic marker were the words “Closed due to bereavement”. “Bereavement my ass, they’re probably just hung over from the memorial party.”

      “Why not just look up the boss?” asked Tenan and I sighed loudly.

      “Do you have any idea how many people I have to go through just to find out who owns the building? Then I have to go through a whole slew of secretaries and hours of being given the run-around to get his, or her, address and phone number. Then I have to get said owner on the phone or track them down in person and find out who actually manages the shop. Then I have to get the address and phone number of that person and the list goes on. I could get lucky and find out that the owner is the manager, but life is rarely that fair. I mean, I could probably get the names off the internet, but that doesn’t get me contact info, and probably won’t be their real names anyway. Artist types, especially musicians and tattoo artists don’t usually use their real names. Basically, even looking them up online would get me exactly nowhere. Without concrete info, I have no way of getting my hands on even the lowliest peon until they open this rat trap up again. ” Winding down, I took a deep, calming breath. “Charlie just doesn’t have that kind of time.”

      “What are you talking about?” asked Tenan, finally becoming suspicious. Good for her, but rotten timing from my perspective. “Do you mean her new tattoo? Do you have reason to think your secretary’s in danger.”

      “I don’t have time for this right now,” I snarled at her, desperately trying to think my way out of the mess that had crept its way into my own backyard. “Just get me to the office. After I’ve made sure Charlie’s safe we’ll sit down and have a nice long talk, all right?”

      Tenan locked gazes with me, her eyes searching for that certain something that would prove to her I was on the level. Finally, she let out a growl and gave in. We drove back to the office at a teeth-clenching speed that I’m sure peeled paint off of the cars we passed. I barely waited for her car to come to a complete stop before I jumped out and all but ran into the office. Charlie was sitting at her desk, updating files, oblivious to the danger lurking just under her skin.

      “Hey boss man,” she greeted me jovially. Meanwhile, I was already fishing in my pockets for whatever goodies I might have to hand. Unfortunately, the kind of simple wards and talismans I kept about my person didn’t have enough oomph to do the trick. I would need some serious mojo to keep Charlie among the living until I could figure out how to eliminate the threat.

      “Charlie, would you step into my office with me for a minute?” I asked her as calmly as I could. She obliged me, but she gave me a sideways look as she passed. I closed the door behind us then went to my trunk – one of two trunks where the “big guns” are stored – and dug out a pair of oven mitts. “How much do you trust me?” I asked her as I opened an old wooden cigar box. “I mean, sure, you’ve seen me do some pretty crazy stuff. But do you trust me enough to do what I say without asking why? I promise I’ll explain everything once this is over. All right?”

      “Sure boss,” said Charlie uncertainly. “It wouldn’t be the first time you made me do something weird in the line of duty. Remember that time I spent two hours moving a tiny rock across a big room an inch at a time?”

      “Yeah,” I said, chuckling at the memory. “You truly are a goddess among secretaries. For now, all you have to do is wear this.” I tossed her an item from the cigar box. It was a holy talisman of immense power given to me by a shaman on his death bed. Dark magics couldn’t get anywhere near the space it protected. I was hoping that it would be enough to keep Charlie safe. The only problem with such nifty little items was that I couldn’t touch them. I was thankful Charlie trusted me enough to put something around her neck that I wouldn’t touch without oven mitts – without the mitts she would’ve had to ignore my new third degree burns instead. Yeah, holy objects and demon blood aren’t the best of friends.

      “All better?” she asked, settling the chain carefully.

      “For the time being,” I said with a deep sigh of relief. Indeed, the smell of the dark magic was all but gone. “Now you can get back to work. Oh, and could you send Tenan in here? I need to talk to her.”

      “Ah, planning a rendezvous are we?” asked Charlie archly.

      “Not on your life,” I snorted. “Just send her in, sans commentary please.”

      “Yes boss,” she said, pouting like a child agreeing to do homework before video games. She walked out and a couple seconds later Tenan entered, closing the door behind her. She plopped down on the couch I’d been sleeping on for the last couple days, and stretched out with no concern whatsoever for her shoes on the upholstery.

      “Is it finally confession time?” she asked dryly.

      “I guess you could say that,” I replied in the same tone, sitting on the edge of my desk. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but in exchange you have to help me put this thing to bed. Do we have a deal?”

      “Of course,” said Tenan, sitting up and leaning forward with a look of anticipation. “So, you’ll tell me anything at all I want to know? I just have to ask?”

      “That’s what I said. Ask away.”

      I was surprised that she didn’t start rubbing her hands together like a cliché silent movie villain. The expression on her face was certainly dastardly enough. I knew right away I was going to regret my promise. I wasn’t wrong.  “First question,” she began excitedly. “What’s up with this trunk? You’ve got another one at your apartment and its jam packed with weirdo stuff too. What’s all this crap for?”

      “First off, it’s not crap,” I said with a deep sigh. “Most of it is either very expensive or very rare. That’s why I keep both trunks locked at all times. These are the tools of my trade.” I reached into my jacket pockets and produced a cornucopia of items from the esoteric to the utilitarian – I mean, what’s the point of having incense in your pocket if you have no lighter, right? Some of the stuff was hard for me to handle, like the holy water, the cross, and all the other tools for blessing and/or casting out evil. Most of those sorts of objects were packaged in such a way that I could at least retrieve them from my pocket with minimal damage to myself. I wasn’t stupid, after all. “I use this stuff on my cases.”

      “Jeez,” she said eyeing it all with growing concern. “What is it you do exactly?”

      “I handle cases nobody else wants to touch. Mostly they’re cases dealing with the supernatural,” I answered her. I tried to sound nonchalant, matter-of-fact even, but I think it sounded more petulant than anything else. “My unique background qualifies me to handle things that normal people can’t handle.”

      “What? Do you see dead people, or something?” asked Tenan sarcastically.

      “Sometimes,” I answered with a shrug. “I usually smell them long before I spot them. I’ve got a sense of smell that would give a drug-sniffing dog convulsions.”

      “So that’s your super power?”

      “Ha! I wish!” I said, honestly amused. “No, that’s just an unfortunate side-effect. It’s no fun knowing how long ago you bathed and what kind of deodorant you prefer, trust me. I don’t really have a ‘super power’. But I can see things other people can’t. Hearing is pretty abnormal too. And, of course, I can smell stuff most humans don’t. Along with all that tasty goodness, I don’t do well in broad daylight. My eyes, even my skin, don’t take well to sunlight at all.”

      “Hang on,” said Tenan, holding up one hand. “Back up a bit. You said ‘humans’. What? Like there’s a difference? What is it you think you are?”

      “I like the way you put that. It’s trite, but at the same time insulting,” I commented caustically. “All right, since we’re being cute. _I think_ I’m late on my bills. _I think_ I’m too busy for this cat and mouse crap. _I think_ I’m wasting time when I could be making money to pay the aforementioned possibly late bills. _I think_ I’m a good guy that gets caught up in a lot of bad situations and has a bad rep because of it. _I think_ I’m good at my job and don’t deserve the bad press that goes with it. Want to know what else I think I am? _I think_ I’m growing impatient. Get on with it before I find something better to do.”

      “What really happened to your parents?” she asked, earnest and grim. This wasn’t some idle question pulled out of the air. This was something she really wanted to know. “I know you saw what happened. I can tell. I’ve been on the job long enough to know a victim when I see one.”

      I let out a long sigh and slid down off the desk. I could have given a line of macho crap, like “I’m nobody’s victim, blah, blah, blah,” and in truth I was sorely tempted. However, rather than stick my size twelve in my mouth I rounded the desk and dropped into the leather embrace of my chair. Running a hand through my hair, I decided that maybe this was one time I ought to try to tell the truth. It might be a nice change. “You’re right,” I said at last. “I was there. I saw the whole thing. I even know who did it, but cops wouldn’t be much help against this guy. So I’ve kept it to myself, all this time. It’s better that way.”

      “Tell me what happened,” demanded Tenan softly.

      “It was my birthday,” I began, unable to look at her as I became lost in the horrifying scenes of that day. “I’d skipped football practice so I could get home in time to go out to dinner with the whole family to celebrate. That was our tradition, going two towns over to eat fancy for whoever’s birthday, and it was my turn. I admit, I was a little old for that sort of thing, but I was still excited about it. That’s why I was in such a rush to get home. Knowing what I know now, I wish I had taken my time. I walked in through the kitchen door, same as always, and there he was. He was holding my mother by her throat, using her as a hostage to keep the rest of my family from making a move. He said he’d shower me in their blood and I was powerless to stop him. He was right, of course. He ripped out her throat. My beautiful, vibrant, smiling mother, and he practically tore her head off with one hand. By the time he was done, all but Carla were dead. There was blood and guts everywhere. I remember the moment I realized I was coated in bits of my _family_. I screamed . . . a lot. He tried to take me away then – I don’t really know why or where to. I made him go away instead. He still wants me, but he’ll have to catch me first and I’ve made a career of making that difficult.”

      “But who was he?” asked Tenan, her face hardened but her eyes shining with sympathy. “You said you knew who did it.”

      “Sure,” I said, finally looking up. “It was my father.”

      “But your father was killed with the rest,” protested Tenan. I could see the moment when understanding dawned. “Thomas McCabe wasn’t your real father was he?”

      “Nope,” I answered, a fatalistic grin creeping across my face. “I guess it’s a sign of the times that nobody notices anymore when a baby is born only six months after a wedding. My real father raped my mother and I’m the result. Then he came back on my fifteenth birthday and turned my mom, stepdad, and half-sibs into lunch meat. Any other old wounds you care to rip open while you’re at it? Shall I tell you about life in the foster care system? Or maybe about my one surviving half-sister? I can’t go into her room to see her because she’ll have a psychotic episode which could endanger her delicate health.”

      “I’m sorry, all right?” said Tenan guiltily. “I know that’s not enough, but I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in. I just don’t like leaving unanswered questions. I guess that’s why I’m a cop.”

      “Well, none of this is helping me save Charlie. What we need to do is get our hands on whoever did the tat, and more importantly, I need to get into that shop,” I told her, changing the subject shamelessly.

      “I could get a warrant to search the place,” suggested Tenan.

      I shook my head. “There isn’t time. I’ve got Charlie safeguarded for now but that’s not going to be enough. He’ll find a way around it eventually. And what if Charlie’s not the only ticking time bomb?”

      “If I don’t go through proper channels I could lose my job,” said Tenan gravely.

      “If I wait for you to go through proper channels, people could die,” I pointed out. Tenan was silent for an agonizingly long moment then finally she sighed.

      “All right,” she said unhappily. “But if I lose my job I’m going to make you miserable until your dying day. Hell, I may even make you give me a job.”

      “Believe me lady, you wouldn’t want to do what I do,” I said, giving her a humorless smile. “It’d give you nightmares.”

      To keep Tenan happy, I let her be the one to drive us back to the shop. When we got there, I had to take a minute to convince myself that my spine hadn’t become permanently grafted to the seat. Tenan went to the door, surreptitiously looking left and right before assigning me as a lookout. I could hear her tinkering with the lock then I heard the gratifying snick of success before I turned to follow her inside. “Don’t touch anything,” she commanded. “I’ll handle any evidence we find. Got that?”

      “Sure thing,” I promised, holding my hands up to demonstrate how well I could touch nothing.

      The front room was a good size, sporting only a single counter with a cash register on it. The walls were lined with cheap plastic chairs and art of every form and fashion in audacious colors meant to catch the eye. The flash was actually better than most I’d seen, and I found myself eyeing a few of them speculatively. At the back of the building were three partitions marking off the three booths where the tattoo artists actually plied their trade. It was a testament to modern man that one of the highest paying _legal_ professions involved causing others pain. In many ways I envied tattoo artists. Seedy as it sounds, I’d love it if people would pay me to hurt them. But, I digress.

      We had almost reached the booths at the back when I abruptly found myself frozen in place. A sudden wind blew up all around me in a tight whirlwind filled with blinding white light. The light and wind both died down pretty quick, but I was still glued to the spot, precariously balanced in mid-step. I wobbled a little to the right and my hand came in contact with what was obviously a barrier. As soon as my hand touched it I heard a sizzling sound. I saw the smoke long before it registered with my brain that my flesh was burning. I yanked back my hand, almost overbalancing myself altogether. Desperately I struggled to right myself and restore my balance while biting back several choice swear words. Touching that barrier had really smarted.

      “Uh, Tenan, we have a problem,” I said. She turned and saw how I was standing, giving me a look that warned me she was not amused. I returned it with an even angrier look that said I wasn’t trying to be amusing. “Remember all that ‘crap’ I showed you. This is one of those supernatural cases I’d normally take. What I’d like to know is why somebody who’s using dark magic to kill people is using holy circles to guard their stuff.”

      “Because I figured on you coming here,” said a voice from the shadows of the last booth. “I have to say, the look on your face when you stepped into the circle was priceless.” The bastard actually laughed. If I could have, I would’ve slugged him.

      “What are you two talking about?” asked Tenan, beleaguered and getting pissed fast. “Who the hell are you?”

      “That would be your culprit, Tenan,” I told her evenly. “He’s the one who killed Sheila – and who knows how many others.”

      “I knew you’d figure it out,” said the voice. The man that finally emerged had a shaved head and the kind of creamed coffee colored skin that comes from having at least one black parent. His brown eyes were anything but sane, and certainly the sheer number of piercings adorning his ears and face endorsed the nut-job theory. He had tattoos all over his bare chest and arms. I recognized them instantly as wards and protections. There were even a few spells etched into his body that would augment his power when activated. Lucky me, he’d already activated them. “I even had a feeling you’d have a human helper with you, although I’d thought it would be that pretty little secretary of yours.”

      “Son of a bitch,” I growled, feeling my other half waking with my rising rage.

      “Temper, temper,” the man admonished mockingly. “We wouldn’t want your lady-friend to see what you really are. Or have you already let slip your little secret? No, you’d never tell her that. You haven’t even told Charlie.”

      “Tenan, please tell me you have your piece on you,” I said, looking at her with desperate hope. She dashed that hope with a minute shake of her head.

      “Ah, but even if she had her weapon, I’ve got a contingency plan. You see, as long as I’ve got _you_ by the balls my friend, there’s nothing she can do. If she so much as twitches wrong I’ll tighten the circle and remove the seal. Let’s demonstrate for her just how dire the situation is, shall we?”

      He lifted his hand toward me and chanted in a low sing-song voice. The circle lit up again growing subtly smaller until it contacted with my arm. I’d be lying if I said I took it like a man. There’s nothing in life that can prepare you for that kind of pain. I’d gone too long without managing to do more than come into minimal contact with anything holy. I had no tolerance built up. All I had was me and the terrifying sound of my own flesh sizzling like meat in a skillet. I could smell the smoke, thin but acrid and accompanied by wave upon wave of agony. As if to add insult to injury, I could feel my masks slipping as the pain drove a wedge right through my carefully honed control. I was slipping fast.

      “Enough!” screamed Tenan over my own rather humiliating shriek. “Enough already! I get it! I get it!”

      The pain stopped, and the sound that rolled out of me was somewhere between a snarl and a sob. “What do you want?” I growled, my voice barely human.

      “See, that’s the beauty part,” said the man with another chuckle. “I already have what I want. It’s what I’ve wanted all along.”  
      “And what’s that?” asked Tenan, carefully inching toward me.

      “I wanted him,” replied the freak coldly, hiking a thumb at me. “A half-demon of my very own to do whatever I want. He’ll be my pet monster, killing on command, putting the fear of hell into anybody dumb enough to come against me. And even if I can’t bring him to heel, his blood will make the perfect ink for my spells.”

      He’d said it. Just like that, he’d dropped that biggest of all secrets at Tenan’s feet. I held my breath as I watched for her reaction. “You must be seriously cracked,” snorted Tenan. “Him? Some kind of half-demon? Yeah, right! And I bet you believe the UFO’s stole Santa, too.”

      “And here I thought we’d shown her enough proof of the unseen. Well, Mr. Hill, I guess she’s in for a surprise.” The bastard’s grin grew wider as he lifted his hand again. I tried to mutter a protection of my own but there was nothing I could do inside the holy circle. He really did have me by the balls, and I had the sinking suspicion I was about to be neutered. “Change for me, my pet. Show her what you really are.”

      I couldn’t understand the words he used for his spell, but I didn’t need to know what he said. All that mattered was what those words were doing to me. Every syllable seemed to slice through my very soul, ripping away all of my carefully constructed masks. I didn’t need a mirror to know that my eyes had become a glowing red center surrounded by black, like burning coals casting ghastly light on white, white skin. I could feel my much sharper teeth cut into the insides of my lips. A rumbling growl like the thunder presaging a storm boiled up out of my chest to be ground out through my burning throat. I spit a gobbet of blood on the ground and it hissed when it hit the holy circle. I was losing the ability to think clearly beyond the need to rend and tear, to destroy anything and everything.

      I had to move, and I had to move fast before I lost the last bit of my mind that was human. I just needed to focus. I had to remember everything I knew about holy circles. If I could get free then I could vent some of my rage on the freak and regain my tattered control before I could hurt anybody else. I’d worry about salving my conscience later. First things first, I had to break the circle. If I could just break the lines it was drawn with . . . but where were they? I looked down, my heightened vision showing me faint marks of slightly darker brown marker on the brown floor. With a wild howl of triumph I used the nails that had transformed into bladed weapons and ripped at the floor. I paid no mind to the burning of my skin or to the nails trying to tear away from my flesh. All that mattered was reaching my goal. All that mattered was reaching my prey.

      Seeing the danger he was in, the arrogant bastard actually tried a banishing. Unfortunately for him, banishing doesn’t work on half-demons. At long last I tore apart a section of the floor and the holy circle shattered, setting free a terrible wrath. I don’t like to the think about what happened next. There was a lot of blood, most of it his. In that frenzied state the scent of all that blood was intoxicating, his terror just an added spice. To say that he was mangled would be putting it lightly. All his power, all his occult knowledge, all his confidence, were nothing in the face of my inner monster. I still try to convince myself it was his own fault. He’d tried to leash a feral dog and had been bit for his efforts. It was only fair. Sometimes, I actually believe that.

      Even after the freak was reduced to hamburger, I still had to fight to return to myself. The smell of Tenan’s fear only made it harder. I don’t know how long I kneeled there in the pile of gore that had once been a human being, but eventually I managed to pull back from the edge. I closed my eyes then. I had to. It was either that or throw up – and even with my eyes closed I was still pretty close to puking. I had just killed someone. True it was someone who’d been trying to kill me, but that didn’t make any difference at that moment. I only knew that he’d died horribly, and it was me that did it.

      “You killed him,” breathed Tenan, echoing my thoughts so closely I had the irrational urge to laugh. “You tore him to shreds. Just like that.”

      “Please,” I said gulping back bile. “Don’t remind me.” I pushed myself to my feet slowly. My head was swimming and the tortured flesh of my hands was starting to throb. “It’s not like I wanted to. I’ve never killed anybody before . . . nobody human – a demon or two, a couple trolls, and even a few imps, but never a human being. I don’t even eat meat.”

      “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” said Tenan. “I mean, I was here and I saw it all, but I’m still not sure what I saw.”

      “I’m more worried about what you’re going to do about it.” I opened my eyes and locked gazes with her. I wasn’t sure if my eyes were still red, or even how much of my emotional suffering she saw in my eyes, but she was the first one to look away. “It might even be best if you arrest me now and get it over with. Blame Sheila on me. After this mess, they’d believe it.”

      “I don’t think that’s the best solution,” said Tenan slowly. “You’re hurt.” It was a simple statement, as straightforward and calm as if she was declaring the sky to be blue. She approached me, intent on my injured hands.

      “Stop,” I said, taking a step back. “Don’t come near me. I don’t know if it’s safe. I don’t want to hurt you.”

      “Bull shit,” she snorted, sounding like her old self. “You could have turned me into mincemeat, like our gooey friend over there, but you didn’t. I could see how hard it was, too. I thought for sure I was about to be an after-dinner snack, but then I saw you stop. You won’t hurt me. I think you’d chew your own arm off first.”

      “I wish I was that sure,” I said, because right then I wasn’t at all sure. It’s like finding out your parents are predisposed to alcoholism. It was a horrifying glimpse of what my genes made me capable of doing, of being. I’d always thought myself in control of my baser instincts. It took just one psycho to prove me wrong. In the end, maybe I really was my father’s son.

      “Well, for now it’ll have to be enough that I trust you. We need to clean you up before we put you in the car then we need to take you to a hospital to get those hands looked at. Is there even any skin left on them?”

      “A bit,” I answered with a wan smile. “What are we going to do about . . .” I had to stop to gulp hard against the renewed urge to toss my cookies. “What are we going to do about the mess?”

      “You just let me worry about that, all right?”

      I was so miserable from my wounds – the ones on the inside as well as the ones on the outside – I could only nod. The clean-up, even though it was only me we were cleaning up was made harder by my poor hands and my generally uncooperative state of mind. In the end, I had to settle for wearing damp shirt and pants – we’d rinsed them in the bathroom sink – but at least, being in a tattoo shop, we had plenty of bandages. Tenan found a whole horde of gauze and tape in the less messy artists’ booths. As soon as she was satisfied I could be seen in public without causing a scene out of a bad monster movie, with me starring as the misunderstood monster, we got in her car and drove to my apartment. I hadn’t been there in days, and it felt strange and somehow different.

      I sat on the floor of my living room, avoiding sitting on my ugly couch just like always. Even being sore from toes to hairline didn’t change my hatred for that crappy couch. Tenan took a seat on the couch, looking almost as tired as I felt. “What happens now?” I asked her. A small voice in my head wondered when she had become an acceptable outlet for answers. A second voice replied, surprisingly enough. She’d become acceptable by accepting me, which was something even I was having trouble doing.

      “What _was_ that back there? What happened between you and him?” she asked in turn, her certainty trembling around the edges.

      “That was one of a million reasons why nobody – and I do mean _nobody_ – knows what I am. The only people who know are gifted people who can see that sort of thing. They tend to be pretty discrete,” I explained to her. “He . . . I don’t really know what he did. The circle was easy enough to figure out. I can even make one myself, though it’s painful and difficult for someone with my limitations. It scares me that he could do that to me at all. I intend to find out what he did and how to counter it so something like this never happens again.”

      “But . . . what he said. Is it true? Is that what you are? A . . .” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it.

      “Yep that’s me,” I said. Funny how somebody else freaking out was all it took to restore me to my usual flippant self. “Daddy dearest wasn’t human. All the nifty stuff I can do is all his fault. I have it in me to send people to the morgue in buckets because of him. He’s a demon – the worst kind of demon, at that. He’s the sort of demon that can pass for human. A perfect, beautiful face to hide a hideous monster. His son isn’t much different. I just have a human conscience to balance it out. All the good I do, all the bad I don’t do, it’s all because I know that I’m one step shy of becoming a monster.”

      I guess she saw me wince at the word conscience. Whatever she saw, she put a hand on my arm and gave me a look of understanding. “It’s all right,” she said with a tired smile. “I think I get it now.”

      She left after that. I don’t know where she went or what she did. However, I never got a call from the cops to come down to the station for questioning. I never saw so much as an honorable mention on the news. The incident just sort of vanished into the background noise of death and politics in the big, bad world. Whatever Tenan did about the distressing mess I’d made of the tattoo artist, it must have been amazing. I actually caught myself being impressed. And as if to put a perfect cap on the case’s mostly anticlimactic ending, the tattoo on Charlie’s leg actually began to fade until it was gone. She was miffed about that, but willing to let it go after a few terse words from me.

      After a couple weeks of no word, I thought I’d seen the last of Officer Jodi Tenan. Then suddenly, there she was at Jackie’s, standing at the end of the table the same as that first day. And just like that first day, Charlie and I were discussing a possible case. “So, what’s on the board this time?” asked Tenan, inviting herself to a seat.

      I surprised myself, actually. “Cup of coffee?” I offered.

      “Please,” replied Tenan, blushing. Honestly? It was kind of cute. I’m a sucker for a chick who blushes. While we were waiting for the coffee Charlie grabbed the case files and left. I was kind of glad she left, though a part of me wished she had stayed – as a buffer if nothing else.

      “So,” said Tenan, sipping from her coffee.

      “So,” I repeated, leaning back in the seat. “What’ve you been up to the last couple weeks?”

      “Probably nothing as interesting as what you’ve been up to,” she evaded.

      “You’d be surprised,” I said dryly. “It’s been pretty dull. I had a guy with a gremlin problem last week. It’s like going into somebody’s house to squish bugs. Except that the cockroaches have a really vulgar vocabulary, high squeaky voices, and they throw sparks. But they’re so small you can just smack ‘em with a fly swatter and call it done. I got paid extra for that one because he wanted them disposed of humanely. Who ever heard of disposing of gremlins humanely? The little bastards breed like rabbits and they’re good for nothing except wrecking things. But I never let down a client so I caught the little buggers. I’ve got them in a glass cage back at the office. You should stop by and see them before I send them off. They’re kind of cute, in a destructive, vaguely obscene sort of way.”

      “Maybe I will,” said Tenan, laughing a little. She still wouldn’t quite look at me. It was starting to irk me a little.

      “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” I finally asked.

      “Actually, I was just sort of wondering how you’re holding up? You were hurt pretty bad back there,” she replied uneasily as she finally met my eyes, “In more ways than one.”

      “Yeah,” I said. Strange how comments like that make one fidgety. “The hands are healing pretty well. I heal fast, so it’s not a big deal. Still not all better, but getting there fast.” I held them up for her to see. I only really needed a thin layer of bandaging anymore. Compared to the thick mitt of gauze I had been wearing just a couple weeks before, it was a vast improvement. They still hurt sometimes, but mostly it was just a mild ache as easily ignored as a bug bite. I really do heal pretty fast. Unfortunately, the whole mess looked revolting. I wouldn’t be going without the gauze as long as it looked bad enough to frighten women and small children.

      “And what about the rest?” she asked, her eyes returning to mine.

      I let out a heavy sigh, putting my injured hands under the table again. “I have my work. I’m hoping for a big ‘save the damsel in distress’ case to earn back my cape-wearers union card. In the meantime, distraction is the order of the day. Who needs sleep, anyway?”

      “Yeah,” she said softly. “I had to kill a guy once. It was a line of duty thing, kill or be killed. That didn’t make it any easier. I overworked a lot after that. It helped until I was ready to deal. You know, when you’re ready to deal, my door’s open.”

      “Thanks,” I told her sincerely, “For everything.”

      “I guess that means _you_ were the damsel in distress,” said Tenan with unexpected humor. “Do I get a union card, too?”

      “Maybe,” I said, giving her a mock-appraising look. “We can discuss it over dinner.”

      “And who says I’d want to date the no-hand wonder?” she asked with a delightfully rich laugh.

      “Oh please,” I snorted. “Like you can resist this face?” I batted my eyelashes at her, eliciting another of those wonderful laughs.

      And so, later that night there we were, sitting in a movie theater trying not to giggle out loud at zombie antics. Funny how things always come around full circle.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are wondering, this story is not the reason the series is called "Full Circle". It's actually because each of these stories pretty much ends where it begins. I noticed after copy editing the second story and decided to continue the theme with the third and fourth. It was kinda fun and a bit of a challenge pulling it off, especially for the fourth story which came out almost psycho compared to its predecessors (I won't say any more about it cuz I don't wanna spoil the surprise). If you've liked the stories so far, stay tuned, there's more coming soon!


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